


Cuisson en Rose

by not_supergirl



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: AU, Bakery AU, Eventual Relationships, Eventual Smut, F/F, Fluff, France - Freeform, Slow Burn, Wayhaught - Freeform, also, also it is a lil bit bc im gonna be trash to willa, also there may be a brief chrissy x waverly storyline, also this is more a wayhaught fic, but just to make nicole jealous, completely unrelated to this story but like i hate her, enjoy, for anybody who is even the slightest bit concerned, i hate willa, i mean bon appetit, i mean bonjour, i pinky promise that neither Nicole nor wave will die, i would never do that to u guys, okay no more spoilers, soooo the wyndolls wont be suuuuper huge, the doc x wynonna is brief, wyndolls will be endgame just fyi
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-07-05
Updated: 2016-07-04
Packaged: 2018-07-21 15:46:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,155
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7393573
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/not_supergirl/pseuds/not_supergirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Waverly gets caught stealing pastries from Nicole's bakery on account of the fact that she has no money and also no job, the logical thing to do would be to call the police. Instead, Nicole decides that the best course of action is offering her a job at the very place she was just stealing from.</p>
<p>Or:</p>
<p>Waverly is in France, broke, and practically homeless. Nicole doesn't know any of this, but is dead set on changing it anyway.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cuisson en Rose

Waverly did not want a job.

Sure, she’d had them before. Cashier. Waitress. Bartender. A few untimely things she’d like to never have to revisit. She had held a fair share of jobs, almost all of them pleasant, so none of those things had really contributed to the origin of her opinion (that was another story for another time). Yet the facts remained, she did not want a job. The funny thing about not having a job though, is that you also don’t have any money. Which means you can’t buy this nifty stuff called food. Which also kind of explains how Waverly had gotten herself into this predicament in the first place. She really doesn’t even know why she’s surprised. She was bound to be caught eventually.

“Hey, were you planning on paying for any of those?” A voice says as Waverly raises a perfectly flaked croissant to her lips. The interruption halts the pastry mere millimeters from the brunette’s mouth. She swallows dryly, and her cheeks tinge just the slightest bit pink at having been caught.

“Uh.” she finally replies, after clearing her throat, “I wasn’t planning on not _not_ paying for them.”

The girl who had caught her quite red-handed, a blonde whose name tag deems Chrissy, looks at her quite skeptically. Waits expectantly for any sort of monetary compensation over the pile of pastries Waverly had somehow managed to swipe from the display box on the counter. When she realizes that the small girl really does have no intention of paying for the food, she sighs. To which the other girl smiles sheepishly. “You realize I do have to tell my boss, right? And that the police may be called?”

Waverly, looks down guiltily, resigned to her fate. “Yeah. I know the drill.”

The blonde sighs again.

“Hey, Nicole?” Chrissy yells loudly, eyes never leaving Waverly, as if she might decide to make a run for it at any second.

“What is it, Chrissy?” A disembodied voice from somewhere in the back of the bakery yells. Waverly thinks she hears what could be just the touch of a southern accent.

“We’ve got a, ah, shoplifter.”

“What?” There’s a bit of commotion in the back, as if someone has just set down a large tray or pot or something metal, and footsteps approach. “How in hell would anyone manage to steal food out of a locked display case? And why would they want to?”

A tall redhead appears from a swinging door that leads further back into the bakery, wiping her hands on an old apron that says, _Noir Insigne Boulangerie_ on the front, and looks almost older than the shop itself. Waverly gulps at the sight of her, because although she has flour smeared across her cheekbone and is undeniably gorgeous, hair knotted back tightly into a french braid, she is also muscled and a little intimidating. Not to mention that she’s at least four inches taller than a much smaller Waverly.

Her heart thuds as the woman nears, looking between Chrissy and the pile of assorted pastries on the table in front of Waverly, until finally her eyes land on Waverly herself.

When she finally reaches them, of all things to do, she smiles, a row of perfectly straight white teeth put on display, and says, “Now how did a girl as pretty as you end up a criminal?”

Chrissy seems almost as baffled at the words as Waverly is, and scoffs. The redhead, Nicole by Waverly’s estimates, gives the blonde a pointed look and the smaller woman rolls her eyes before stalking off behind the counter, leaving Waverly alone with who she assumes to be the boss.

“Well?” She prompts again, taking the seat across from Waverly.  Waverly almost wants to laugh.

“That depends, partner, how much time do we have?” Nicole laughs, knowing that Waverly has noticed the slight southern twang to her voice, despite how many years Nicole has practiced speaking slowly in the mirror trying to eliminate it. Now it really only comes out full force when she’s tired or angry, but it still lingers just underneath the surface no matter how much she practices, never quite forgotten.

“Good ear.” Nicole tells her. And they both just look at each other for awhile.

“Are you going to call the police?” Waverly asks, sounding guilty and looking down at her thumbs. She twiddles them nervously, but the movement is solid. Steady. Concise circles going round and round in time with a rhythm either unknown or unheard by Nicole. She watches them spin for a few seconds, absolutely enraptured. It’s something so simple, yet it says so much about the girl already.

“No.” Nicole finally responds, sounding as if she has only just made the decision herself. Waverly nods gratefully, thumbs still circling.

They’re met with silence again, and Nicole continues watching her thumbs. Round and round and round. Never stopping, never ceasing. Always moving counter-clockwise.

“Why did you steal the pastries?” Nicole asks, because she honestly wants to know. Waverly’s thumbs stop moving and she sighs, placing her right hand flat on top of the table forefinger picking up the circular motion and drawing them onto the scratched and worn wood of the tabletop.

“Because I can’t afford to pay for them.” She finally admits honestly. She sounds embarrassed and it breaks Nicole’s heart, because she knows what it is to be broke. What it is to go hungry. Business hadn’t always been as good as it is now for her little corner bakery in the south of France. An idea blossoms in her head, but she needs to know one thing first.

“Why not?” She asks, voice soft in a way that Waverly hasn’t heard in a long, long time. She looks up from her swirling pointer finger and up into Nicole’s eyes. They’re swimming with sincerity and Waverly is so tempted to tell her everything. The words are on the very tip of her tongue, but she forces them down. Swallows them and lets them sit in a twisting knot in her stomach instead, because that’s not what she asked for. She just wants to know why she’s losing product, not Waverly’s life story.

“Because I don’t have a job.” Nicole looks at her intently, studying and Waverly holds the gaze for what could be hours, knowing it’s important but not knowing why. After what is probably too long, Nicole stands up, dusting her her hands over her apron again before letting her fingers hook into her belt loops. Looking sure of herself. Looking like she’s just made an important decision. Waverly swallows, bracing herself for Nicole to call the cops and let them drag her to jail. Instead, what the redhead says is:

“You can work here. Chrissy has to leave at the end of the summer to go back to college, and I’ve been meaning to train someone anyway. You can start tomorrow.”


End file.
